Mister Red

Indentured Stepson Lucas

Chapter One
Lucas Returns Home

I was happy for my mom when she found a man to marry. She had been alone since my dad left when I was younger. I'd heard dad went to South America. At least he left us well-off financially, with a big house and a healthy yearly income. Well, actually most of the money had originally been my mother's, and she had inherited the house. But my father had invested wisely and took care of all needed business arrangements, the sort of things my mother couldn't be bothered with.

I knew my mom had problems with alcohol and pills, but I'd been taught it was not something ever to be discussed. I hoped that having a nice man in her life would help her be happier and get over her drinking problem. I attended a boarding school and was in 8th grade at the time. It was close enough for me to visit home on weekends, but I was so involved with school sports and activities, that I rarely came home.

When I met Mr. Strong, the new man in her life, I took an automatic dislike to him. But everybody told me that was a natural reaction. I had been the only male in my mother's life for so many years, and now there was someone who would be sharing her bed and having sex with her (the idea of someone having sex with my mom seemed totally gross). Of course her teen son would dislike any man in that position. But still this man gave me a creepy feeling, something about the way he looked at me, the way he smiled at me, even the way he spoke to me in a very deep, quiet voice.

I also met his two sons. His older son, Shawn, was 23, tall with a big impressive chest and shoulders. He had just joined the force as a slave cop, and liked wearing his form-fitting black uniform. Mr. Strong's younger son, Cameron, was 12. I tried to be friendly to both of them, especially Cam, who I was told would be attending my middle school the following year, but the two boys seemed aloof and also gave me the creeps.

My mom told me that her new husband-to-be, Mr. Strong, was wealthy and had a lot of business interests. But I was suspicious of that. We had a big house with two slaves. There was plenty of room for Mr. Strong and his sons to move in, but I couldn't get a clear answer as to where the Strong family had been living before that.

I tried to put all that out of my mind and participated in all the celebrations leading up to the wedding. The wedding itself was a quiet affair in early May. Since my mom and Mr. Strong were gone for their honeymoon, I saw no need to come back home on weekends. Since it was the final month of my last year in middle school, I was busy with all sorts of activities anyway.

Of course my mom phoned me when the two of them were back from their honeymoon and told me all about the trip they took. Then she put her new husband on the phone. He asked her to check on something downstairs while he talked to me. Then in a hushed voice he spoke to me about my mother's drinking problem. I stammered at his questions and tried to explain to him that this was something I'd never discussed before. I don't know whether my mother had ever talked seriously with anyone about her problem, beyond a few jokes from her friends about her being a lush.

In a deep and commanding voice, he said, "She needs help. You know that, don't you?"

My voice was quiet when I replied, "I… I'm s-sorry I didn't…" Before our conversation was over, he had me begging him to find the kind of rehab center and doctors she needed. I agreed with him that he had to do whatever was necessary to get my mother the help she needed, no matter how much it cost. I agreed that he knew best and that I wouldn't give him any problems about the family's money. I was still just a young teen, but I was my mother's only remaining blood relative.

I was shaken up after the phone call. I felt guilty that even though I knew my mother needed help, I had never done anything about it. I always considered her drinking a family secret that was embarrassing. Then again, I had just turned 14 at the time. Maybe it was too much that my new stepdad was asking me to have taken on such a grown up responsibility.

I kept calling regularly. My stepfather would always answer and then give the phone to my mother, warning her not to stay on too long and exhaust herself. Then a few days before I was set to return home for summer break, my mother phoned me. She sounded like she was trying hard to be upbeat. She told me that her husband, Mr. Strong, had noticed that she was tired all the time, and she was going to "a nice place in the country where I can relax and calm down." I told her how happy I was that she was going someplace like that, and tried to act just as upbeat as she was being.

Then my stepfather took the phone from her and said, "Don't go making any plans for the summer, Lucas, we are going to need you around the house."

I said, "We can talk about this in a few days when I'm back. I wanted to take some time to go along with my buddies to…"

My mother's voice echoed in the background, "Please, son, do as your new dad asks. He has to take charge in my absence, and I know you'll be a good boy for him."

Stepdad piped up and loudly agreed, "I'm sure you'll be a good boy for your new dad." After he hung up, I felt a funny tingling from the way he'd said that. Do you know how sometimes you feel nervous about something and your dick will chub up just a little bit? That's what happened to me right then. I had to reach down and readjust my dick. Soon after I went to the dorm bathroom and found a quiet stall where I could jerk off in private.

That Friday I had a car service bring me back to my home. When I got there I was surprised neither of our slaves came out to help with my bags. I carried both bags to the front door and rang the bell. When I rang a second time I saw my younger stepbrother stick his head out of an upstairs window and say, "Oh, yes. We were expecting you. But we're all around back. Bring your bags with you to the back entrance of the house."

I thought to myself that he sounded kind of rude, especially speaking to someone who was now his older brother. But I lugged my heavy bags and went around the side of the house to get to the back door, the slave entrance that opened onto the slave quarters to the right and the kitchen to the left. I went toward the kitchen and called out the names of our two slaves, surprised when neither one of them replied.

Then my older stepbrother appeared at the kitchen entrance, dressed in his slave cop uniform, and said, "My dad's checking out the rooms down here. Follow me." I left my bags in the kitchen and walked behind Shawn into the slave quarters. My stepfather was in the slave bathing room, where slaves were showered and groomed. My mother preferred our slaveboys to have their dicks and butts covered, but they were still expected to keep their bodies clean and shaved totally smooth.

My stepdad didn't greet me in any way, just looked around the space as I was led in. My patience gave out and I snapped at the older man, "Where are our slaveboys?"

He looked me over for a long moment before he said, "We had to sell them." While I was still processing that, he went on, "You are the one who agreed with me that we had to do whatever was necessary in order to get your mother the care she needed. Well, the care she needed was much more expensive than I anticipated." He took a meaningful pause and then concluded, "Changes had to happen around here. We all must do what we must do, Luke."

I cleared my throat and said, "My name is Lucas. I hate being called Luke." But then I apologized for my harsh tone. He patted me on the shoulder and said, "I can be very forgiving of a boy who knows when he's done wrong; a boy who knows he needs to be corrected." Then he ruffled my hair with his fingers, almost like I was a little boy.

"This is a large house with grounds… with no slaves to take care of everything…"

"Provision has been made," the older man said. At this point he was sitting in a lounge chair which was placed so a master could view his slaves being prepared. On one side of him was his older son, Shawn, dressed in his black slave cop uniform. On his other side was his younger son, Cameron, with a smug expression on his face.

Stepdad took out his cell phone and auto-dialed a number. He put it on speaker phone as he talked to the doctor at the rehab center. The doctor said he would put my mother on the phone, but warned us not to talk about anything that might upset her. He re-emphasized by saying, "If her son has cancer or the house has burned down, she is not equipped to hear about anything that may have gone wrong or any disagreements between people. So keep the talk light and happy."

My mother's voice sounded weak over the phone. But she said how much she liked the place, how beautiful the gardens were, and how she was able to sit out by a duck pond most of the afternoon without a care in the world. I told her how happy I was that she was at such a nice place. Then she asked how I was getting along with my new stepbrothers and I assured her they had welcomed me home and we were already buddies. (I certainly wasn't going to tell her how rude they'd been to me.) My stepbrothers then got on the call and sounded very cheerful, calling her 'Mom' – there was something creepy about it.

The doctor got back on the phone and told us that he would only let mom talk to us once a month. Part of his treatment was isolating her from the outside world. He warned that she would go through some difficult times kicking her alcohol habit, but that she had the best care possible.

After my stepdad hung up the phone, his older son, Shawn, pulled a document out of his inside jacket pocket and started reading to me, "Lucas Alphonse DeWinter, your rights as a free citizen have been rescinded for a period of five years commencing immediately…" Everyone knew those were the first words in a declaration of indenture.

My eyes were wide as I yelled at my stepfather, "What the fuck? You're making me a slaveboy in my own house?"

The document fell from Shawn's hand and, in a flash, he touched an electric prod to my chest. I convulsed and gasped for air as I fell to the floor. My stepdad's voice was calm as he said, "Now, now, Luke, you know better than that. You know how a slaveboy addresses free men."

I wanted to curse him out but Shawn was standing over me holding the prod. I wanted to repeat to him that my name was Lucas and I didn't like being called Luke, but I knew that slave prod would keep me from saying anything at all. I slowly rose to my feet looking at all three of these people surrounding me, seeing how unfriendly their faces were.

"Slave rest position," Shawn ordered. "You've had slaves all your life. You certainly know what slave rest position is."

I clasped my hands together behind my back, looked down at the floor, and spread my legs apart. Shawn kicked my feet a little wider apart and grumbled, "Shoulder width, slaveboy."

I gulped and cautiously looked at my stepdad as I said, "Please, sir… M-m-master, I request permission to speak."

"Permission denied," he said in a monotone, following it with, "Now strip, boy. Let's have a look at the merchandise."

Merchandise? I remembered a year earlier when the government had lowered the age of indenture to 14. We discussed it in current events. Since most of us would be turning 14 within the next year, we were all concerned. Our teacher reassured us, "Indenture is for the boys from poor families, the ones who commit crimes or whose parents can't pay the bills. It keeps the riffraff off the street during their most dangerous years, when young males tend to be reckless. But it shouldn't concern any of you. Your families have enough money to send you to the Academy of St. Sebastian."

But just a few months later it did effect one of my classmates, in fact the boy who sat next to me in current events. His name was Mark and he was a really arrogant preppy. I never hung out with him. It turns out Mark's father was convicted of fraud, and even though that family was very wealthy, the government confiscated all of the man's possessions. Since the legislature had lowered the age of indenture to 14 just a few months earlier, Mark was considered one of his father's possessions. He was sold to Eureka, where most of the gays lived. I remembered all the times Mark had ranted about 'fags' and wondered how he felt now that he was servicing their dicks.

And now here I was – my mother had done no wrong and neither had I, my family was wealthy and I was a good student. But here I stood, ordered to strip by this dad and his sons, treated like merchandise in the house where I grew up. A boy like me wasn't supposed to get enslaved.

I looked from one to the other. Shawn was still holding his prod in a threatening manner. Cameron had a paddle that he was playing with as he grinned at me. Mr. Strong sat between them looking calm. I slowly peeled my t-shirt over my head, letting it fall to the ground.

"Thoughtless slaveboy! Pick that up and fold it neatly." I did as ordered, folding the ragged t-shirt as best I could and placing it on a nearby chair. I pulled off my sneakers and socks, folding the socks into the sneakers and putting them under the same chair. I opened my belt but then paused. Something inside me was hoping this was all a joke and we would have a good laugh. But from the looks on their faces, I knew this was no joke.

I peeled down my jeans and tried to fold them neatly. If it seems like this was all challenging to me, please understand that I had never before had to fold any of my own clothes. We had two slaveboys at home who took care of my things. And at school there were slaves on staff, plus some of the boys had brought along their own slaveboys. So there was always a slave to wash, fold and put away my clothes.

For a long moment I stood in my patterned boxer shorts. Cameron quickly moved around behind me and swatted my ass with his paddle really hard. I automatically reached and grabbed the paddle out of his hand, shouting, "Hey, what do you think you're doing?"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew I had made a serious mistake. Mr. Strong leaped out of his chair and helped Shawn drag me to the far end of the slave bathing room. My wrists were pulled high above my head and spread as wide as they could go. Each wrist was cuffed to either end of a very long metal bar. Then the bar was raised slightly so that my feet were off the ground. My legs were spread equally wide and attached to a spreader bar so that my body formed the shape of an X.

Once I was helpless in that position, Cameron's hand went into the fly of my boxer shorts, fondling my dick and making it grow. I tried to stop myself from going erect, but he was touching me in a way that woke up my sleeping cock and it was lengthening rapidly. "I wanna see if he's got anything worthwhile down here," the bratty kid said.

His older brother was more direct. He ripped my boxers off completely so I was hanging up there naked. Then he grabbed each of my ass cheeks in his hands and squeezed. "He sure got something worthwhile back here."

Mr. Strong snapped, "There'll be time for that later, boys. For now we have to teach our new slaveboy proper behavior." Then he stood right in front of me, looking directly into my eyes, and said in a very quiet voice, "You are a very lucky slaveboy. You grabbed the paddle out of my son's hand. That is a serious offense. But if you had actually grabbed my son's hand, that would have required a much more severe punishment." I shuddered as he continued, "A slave who physically attacks his master in any way is castrated and then has the skin on his back flayed with a bullwhip."

A whimper came out of my throat. Mr. Strong started playing with my right nipple, he was twisting it and pulling on it. "We don't want to see anything bad happen to you, Luke. I told you that your mother's care was much more expensive than I had expected. We've all had to make sacrifices, boy. And I needed collateral on the new mortgage I had to take on this house. Making you an indenture was the only sensible way. And as of now we have you on a five-year contract. You would be 19 at the end of the contract. Depending how things go, maybe your indenture will have a different duration."

My brain was trying to process all of this. Couldn't he just say that maybe I'd be freed from indenture sooner? Why this wording about a 'different duration' for my indenture? He went on, "Besides, this house needs at least one slave to take care of things, clean the bathrooms, care for the gardens, wash our clothes…"

"And take care of us," Shawn added, as he grabbed the front of his tight black uniform pants and emphasized his erection trapped in the cloth.

My mouth was dry. I managed to gasp out, "P-please, sir… Please, Master, I'm… I'm not g-gay, sir."

The three of them looked at each other and laughed together as Mr. Strong responded, "That makes it more fun for us."

He handed the paddle back to his younger son. "Since you were the one he offended by grabbing the paddle, you should administer the punishment."

"How many, dad?" Cameron asked eagerly.

Mr. Strong looked at his older son and said, "Well, it's only a paddle."

"Twenty should hurt him enough," Shawn said with authority. "After all, this is a tender free boy ass you're smacking. Once we toughen him up, he'll be able to take 50 easy enough."

The smacks started coming hard and fast. I was bare naked in my own home, strapped to spreader bars that left me helpless, and a kid two years younger than me was smacking my ass with a wooden paddle. Mr. Strong told Cameron to pause. "Savor it, boy. Give the slave a chance to anticipate how and where the next blow will come."

Cameron started rubbing the paddle tenderly on my already-bruised flesh. I squirmed when the wooden surface rubbed across the welts that had already started to develop on my white ass cheeks. I then got three smacks on my left ass cheek in quick succession, then a long pause of being teased, and then four smacks on my right ass cheek. The boy's father was right, teasing my body in that way made the punishment feel more intense. All this time Mr. Strong and Shawn were whispering together and looking at me. The two laughed and each of them grabbed the tent in the front of his pants.

When Cameron came around in front of me, he already had his hard-on sticking out of the fly of his pants. He was rubbing it as he looked me over. Mr. Strong admonished his son, "It's not time for that yet, boy. The slave needs to be properly prepared."

The boy put his dick back in his pants. At that point it seemed odd to me that he had been masturbating his exposed cock right in front of his father and brother. But then again I had grown up without a father and without any brothers. Then a thought occurred to me: As bad as it was being turned into a slaveboy, what if I was a slaveboy serving a family of homosexuals? All three of them had their hands on my body, feeling my skin everywhere. Mr. Strong looked at his younger son and said, "Don't worry, Cameron, you'll have your chance at this fine hunk of young slave flesh."

Attached to the spreader bars as I was, it should have been easy for them to shave me, but it became complicated. It seems this was the first time Cameron was shaving a slaveboy. His dad was teaching him. I was already disoriented and upset about what was happening. Having a novice young boy shave my balls was adding to my anxiety, especially because there was really nothing there to shave. The small patch of thin hairs above my dick had only been there a few months, but now it was gone with one swipe of the razor. Meanwhile the feeling of the shaving cream, combined with my own nervousness, gave me a full erection sticking up more than 90 degrees from my body. When Cameron went around behind me, I felt his hands spreading my butt cheeks. He said to his father, "I don't think he needs any shaving back here, dad." The older man came around and shoved a finger up my butthole, then said, "But he does need cleaning out, son."

They released me from my bondage and I collapsed on the floor because my legs were wobbly. I was lifted up by Shawn and dragged over to an enormous wash basin, then bent over the edge. I saw Cameron had a nozzle in his hand and was moving it toward my hole. In spite of the potential punishments, I was just about to protest, when Shawn stopped his younger brother and said, "You have to grease him first, little bro. You don't want to create any rips and tears back there. That would make for a lousy fuck."

In my head I was roaring a response: You fucker, I'm straight. I was brought up with wealth and position. How dare you think you can treat me like a common slaveboy? How dare you think you can stick your dicks in my ass. Even as I thought that, my buttcheeks clenched together and I shuddered at the thought of what was going to happen. I then faced the humiliation of two enemas administered by a boy younger than me in front of two horny adult men who seemed to enjoy the show. My thoughts scattered when I was pushed under a stream of cold water and told to rinse myself. I suppose I had always known there was no hot water in the slave quarters, but it had never been an issue for me before.

I was expected to air dry myself, but I was shivering as I did it. Then I was ordered to drag a heavy punishment horse from the corner to the center of the room. I was pushed down over the horse, my hands were strapped to the front of the clunky piece of furniture, and my legs were spread wide and strapped to the back. My chest was resting on the padded leather top of the horse.

Mr. Strong's big hand was massaging and squeezing my cheeks as he asked, "Ever taken dick up your ass before, slaveboy?"

"No, never. I told you I'm not a homo…" He smacked my ass hard and I quickly added, "Sir."

His thick finger was working something greasy into my hole. "Ever sucked a dick, boy?"

I almost retched with disgust at the very thought of taking a dick in my mouth. I shook my head vigorously and said, "No… sir." Then I responded with a deep grunt as I felt a second finger invade my virgin ass. There was a mirror in front of me so I could see what was going on behind me. Both of Mr. Strong's sons were taking off their clothes and stroking their cocks. Mr. Strong remained dressed, but kept on squeezing the tent in the front of his pants.

He looked to his 12-year-old son and said bluntly, "Well, you're the one who cleaned him out with those enemas. So you should know whether he's clean enough." At that, Cameron got down behind me and I felt his mouth on my butt cheeks, his tongue was moving up and down in my crack. Then he used his hands to spread my cheeks apart and shoved his tongue up into my butthole. I gasped and made a startled squeaking sound. The kid was munching and licking away like he was enjoying the best ice cream in the world, but it was my asshole!

Then Cameron stood up behind me. I felt the pressure of his stiff prick against my anus. I tried my best to squeeze my cheeks together, but he slapped my ass hard, hitting right where the welts were from my earlier paddling. I felt the head of his cock shove inside me and let out a loud "Ungghhhh." Mr. Strong turned to his older son, as the two of them stood beside me, and laughed, "If he grunts like that for the kid, what kinda sound will he make when he gets my long fat one up his hole?"

True, my younger stepbrother didn't have a man-sized dick, but it seemed a respectable size for his age. And he slid the full length of his dick inside me. I felt his smooth pubic bone slam against my smooth butt cheeks. I felt his balls against the backs of my thighs. These were feelings I never expected I would ever know. I couldn't help myself, "Ple-ease, y-you c-c-can't do this to…"

Shawn picked up a tawse and slapped it across my shoulders. I suddenly felt like my shoulders were on fire. If this was a light slap, what would a real whipping feel like with a tawse? I knew I would find out soon enough. I whimpered, "S-sorry, sir."

The naked slave cop had the body of a marine, broad shoulders, impressive chest, thick arms, narrow waist. If I had been attracted to men, I'd have to admit he was one good looking dude. But all this was new to me. He took my jaw in his hand and forced me to look up at him, as he said, "You're not a stupid boy, right?"

I gulped. "N-no… I hope I'm not, sir."

"With a newly indentured free boy like this we usually use a mouth guard to cover your teeth and force your mouth to stay wide open. Do you understand me, slaveboy?"

I stammered out, "S-sir, yes sir."

"But you're smart enough to know what's going to happen to you if I feel so much as one of your teeth touch my fat cock, boy."

A sob came out of the back of my throat as I once again said, "Sir, yes sir."

With that Shawn rested his fat leaking cock head on my tongue and just let it lie there. The positive part about Shawn's teasing was that it distracted me from the pain in my butt. Cameron had started fucking me slowly, but now he was going fast and hard. He would pull almost all the way out of me, and then shove the full length all the way into me, forcing me to grunt. I don't know if he was talking to me or to his older brother when he said, "This is called long dicking. Dad taught it to me."

Everything that was happening seemed so twisted, but the most twisted part was how clear it was that these two boys were used to being naked and having sex in front of their father. I wondered for a moment whether the two of them had sex with their father. But there wasn't much time for me to think about that. I had Shawn's thick erection sliding in and out of my throat. Shawn had learned his own version of long dicking and he was treating the back of my throat like a punching bag. He would pull his cock most of the way out of me, then slam in as hard and fast as he could. I was certain he must be damaging something back there. I would eventually learn the body is more resilient than we realize.

While I was learning to suck cock, the younger brother was dripping sweat on me, slamming his prick in my hole over and over, faster than ever. Finally he howled and fell across my back. The older brother grabbed my face and pressed his body against it. His thick black pubes were up my nose. I couldn't breathe. I felt like I was going to pass out.

A moment later both of the Strong boys had pulled out of me. I felt cum and spittle dripping out of my mouth. I felt something slimy sliding down the backs of my thighs.

Cameron was using my discarded boxer shorts to clean off his cock. He looked at his dad and said, "OK, your turn, dad. Thanks so much for letting me go first, sir. I never took a slaveboy cherry before."

"This boy has work to do," Mr. Strong announced, slapping my tender ass. "I'll break him in some time later." Then he left the room as Shawn and Cameron took their time putting their clothes back on. They whispered about me from a distance so I couldn't hear, but I saw them smiling, pointing at me, sometimes laughing. It was good they took that time, it gave me time to catch my breath.

When they untied me from the horse, I was handed a pair of white briefs. I looked at them and realized they had been my own underpants back in 7th grade, but I hadn't worn that kind in a year's time. I held them up and said, "Excuse me, sir. These are my old underpants. I think they'll be too tight…"

Shawn slapped my face. "When we want a slaveboy's opinion, we will let you know." Cameron piped in with, "And don't hold your breath till we ask your opinion."

Shawn walked around me as I struggled to pull up the white briefs. "You need to be reminded of your status as a slaveboy. You need to be brought low, even embarrassed at times. We could do that by making you wear slaveshorts or even a slavejock… but I think you would be more embarrassed like this in front of your chums…"

"Yeh, the boys from your school, the ones on your wrestling team, even the kids around the neighborhood. They'll see you totally shaved and wearing a little boy's tighty whities." Then he laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the world.

I had wondered about something and now I knew. I didn't know whether this family would keep me as a slaveboy inside this house, or use me out in the neighborhood as well. Now I knew. Also the references to the boys at school made me think about the school's policy of allowing students to bring along their personal slaveboys. I blushed deeply just thinking about it. I had just graduated from that school. I was the 8th grade jock everybody looked up to. Would I be going back and serving as a cumdump for a bunch of 12 and 13 year old brats?

Dressed in just the white briefs, I was marched up to the second floor where the bedrooms are located. I saw the next-door-neighbor's slaveboy, Kip. I knew he was just a few years older than me. Mr. Wilson next door had just purchased him less than a year earlier, back when the government first permitted indenture of 14-year-old boys. I stopped in my tracks when I saw him. He was dressed in a slavejock, with a pouch in front and just one strip of cloth that ran between his butt cheeks.

Mr. Strong spoke to his sons in a casual way, "It was kind of our next door neighbor to loan us his slaveboy for the afternoon. But Kippy has to be home to prepare dinner for his master. So we need to get to work."

Cameron started explaining to me where the furniture was to be moved, but his father stopped him. "Kippy knows where everything goes. Since our slaveboy is so new to service, it's best for Kippy to take charge." Then he looked at the nearly-naked slave and said, "I give you permission to smack this slaveboy's ass or any other punishment you deem necessary to get this job done."

"Sir, thank you, sir," the slaveboy snapped, bowing his head in his perfectly-executed slave rest position.

When the three free people went downstairs, I looked at Kip and said, "Now I understand what you've been going through, man."

"You understand nothing, you spoiled little brat." Then he grabbed me round and smacked my butt three times. When he pushed me away he said, "That's punishment for your impudence, slaveboy."

I couldn't believe it. Here was a longtime slave who had served me when I was a free boy, and he had the nerve to smack my butt. Even more horrifying than that, my master had given him permission to smack my butt!

Before I could stew any further, Kip announced, "Your master has assigned us work. Extraneous talking is not permitted."

I began, "Yes, but this is all so…"

"If you speak again I'll have to punish you, boy. And I'll have to inform your master so he can punish you as he chooses."

With that, we went to work. Furniture was being moved from one room into another. Some new more modern pieces were being moved in. And a few of my mother's favorite pieces were being moved out. Once I figured out what we were doing, I understood that Mr. Strong was remaking my mother's bedroom into a bachelor hangout for himself, turning her dressing room into his office. My old bedroom was being made over for Cameron. And Shawn would be turning our impressive old library into his bedroom.

It all outraged me. But what could I do with the outrage? I was a slaveboy! And even in the presence of this other neighborhood slaveboy, I could't speak. I suppose it was good that I had all this hard manual labor to keep me from brooding too much. Just when I thought we were complete, Kip and I had to take the discarded furniture down the steps and outside for pickup. Just before we took that last trip down the stairs, Kip stopped and looked at me in a meaningful way. "I'll just say: It was wrong of them not to clean up the spunk spilling down your legs. And I understand what it's like to be a free straight boy and have to face slavery. Believe me, I understand." Then he returned to silence.

Once we were outside, I saw Mr. Wilson, our next door neighbor. He was standing on his side of the property line, smoking his pipe and looking at me in the most intense way. The white underpants I was wearing were so small that my dick was practically sticking out over the waistband, and parts of my butt crack were on display in the back. Carrying the heavy furniture alongside Kip, there was nothing I could do to cover myself. In addition, I was coated with a sheen of sweat and realized that my tighty whities were also soaked through with sweat. When I glanced back at the older man I saw that he had one hand in a pocket. I didn't dare stare much longer, but it looked to me like he was fingering his dick through his pants pocket.

I hadn't realized Mr. Strong had come out of the house behind us until he smacked my head and said, "Concentrate on the work, boy." Then he turned to the neighbor and said, "I'm so grateful you loaned us your Kippy. I will of course return the favor anytime, once we get our new slaveboy broken in."

"Boy's name is Kip, not Kippy," Mr. Wilson said, taking another puff on his pipe. "This one you got here is a fine piece of young slaveflesh. I always thought he would make a lovely slaveboy. So nice to see him like this, so very nice." I was thoroughly creeped out hearing his words. This man had moved into the house next door six years earlier. Now when he said he 'always thought' I'd make a lovely slaveboy, I had to wonder: Was he thinking that when I was a third grader and he would playfully tickle me?

"You mentioned your wife is going away. Perhaps you could borrow our Luke then to help keep you company?" Oh Damn! I had been a slaveboy less than half a day and I was already being pimped out. I had only taken one dick in my mouth and one up my butt so far. But now my teen body could be used by any man my master designated.

A leash was attached to my collar and I was led back into the kitchen on all fours. I had earned a treat for all my hard labor. There was a dog bowl filled with a foul-smelling mixture. I sniffed at it and looked up at Mr. Strong. "It's slave chow. It's good for you, boy, has all the nutrients and protein you need. You'll have that… and water," he said as he plopped down another bowl next to the first.

Since I had no utensils I tried picking up a piece of the greasy slop with my fingers, but the man slapped my hands. He pulled my hands behind my back and cuffed them. "A slaveboy eats with his mouth, and that's all." Then he pushed my face down into the bowl. I chomped the disgusting mixture and felt the filth of it all over my face. When I drank out of the water bowl, I saw bits of the slave chow floating in the water.

The men of the house had ordered take-out food, since they had determined I would need cooking lessons before I could be trusted to prepare their meals (Kip would be my teacher). After they ate, Mr. Strong took my leash in his hand and led me up the backstairs, the ones that went up from the kitchen to the bedrooms. This was the stairway I was expected to use from now on.

I was brought into my mother's former bedroom, now made more masculine to suit Mr. Strong. He uncuffed me and removed the leash from my slave collar. I took the familiar slave kneeling position in front of him and looked down at the floor. He caressed my face, then reached down and twisted each of my nipples until I cried out. When he heard me make a sound that indicated I was feeling pain, he would laugh.

Then he ordered me to undress him and to fold his clothing piece by piece. He was a big man with a hairy body. When I removed his shirt it was clear he had spent a lot of time in the gym developing his chest and shoulders and arms. But he had reached an age where he also had a beer belly sticking over his belt. I was kneeling before him and pulled down his boxers. His cock popped up fully 90-degrees in front of him, from a thick black bush.

His fingers were brushing side to side on my lips. "Oh, Luke, I should tell you that I accommodated one of your mother's wishes before she went to the rehab center. She was so pleased that I followed her wish and was willing to adopt you. She was worried that if anything happened to her, you would be an orphan. But instead…" He held my jaw and forced me to look up at his face as he spoke in a gravelly deep voice, "Luke, I am your father," then he broke out laughing like an idiot. I didn't know what was so funny about that.

As he said those words he shoved his fat cockhead into my mouth, forcing my lips to stretch wide. He grabbed my ears and started pumping in and out of my throat without pause. I was gagging and he didn't care. In fact I'm certain he was enjoying the fact that I was struggling and choking on his cock. It seemed to go on forever, but just as suddenly he pulled out of me and tossed me onto his bed on my stomach.

My knees were on the floor. My chest was on top of the bed. Almost immediately I felt the man's large hairy body pressing down on me from behind. His hands were holding my arms in place. First I felt the thick cock head pressing against my anus, then all of a sudden I felt the full length of his cock deep inside my guts. It was certainly more than twice the size of Cameron's 12-year-old dick that had taken my virginity. I howled in pain, sure that my hole would rip and feeling like I had a fist punching my insides. My new master didn't pause. He just started ramming in and out of my ass, making me dizzy.

The big man's hands were kneading my shoulders, then my back muscles, then reached around and squeezed my pecs. All the while he gave a running commentary about my body. "Skin so smooth," he grunted into my ear. "Muscles so firm and nicely-formed. I had a boner the first time your mother introduced us, boy. I just knew your ass was going to be this tight and sweet to fuck."

I tried to shut out the sound of his voice, but I couldn't. The way he was touching me and speaking to me made me feel like dirty, it made me feel like I was nothing but a hunk of young slaveflesh.

The hairy man sweated and grunted on top of me for a long time before he finally slammed in and I felt his thick cock pulsating deep inside me. "Filling you up with your new daddy's sperm," he snarled in the nastiest voice as his tongue went into my ear. Then he popped out of me and moved my body around.

I tried to turn away when he presented his dirty cock to my mouth, but he grabbed a tawse and started slapping my chest, cutting right across my tender nipples. "No, please stop, sir… I'll be good… I'll do what you want." I opened my mouth and used my tongue and lips to clean off his long slimy penis. It wasn't actually filthy since I'd had multiple enemas, but it smelled like my ass. I lapped at it frightened of any more slashes on my battered body.

Mr. Strong snapped a leash onto my slave collar and dragged me out of his bedroom without even telling me where we were going. I was led into my former bedroom, now redone to suit my younger stepbrother. I was on all fours and I looked up at the 12-year-old, who grinned broadly at his father.

"Son," Mr. Strong began. "You've been a good boy for your dad. Just remember that in our society, sex between free men is frowned upon. A good dad would tell you never to have sex with another free man or boy. I know that at your age you have a lot of needs, Cameron. That's why I want you to take charge of our new slaveboy. He'll be sleeping here in your room, except for special nights when he may be needed elsewhere."

"Wow, dad, does that mean when school starts I can bring the slaveboy with me?"

Oh damn! I just graduated from that middle school. I had been the big sports hero. Would I now be returning in a collar and a pair of white briefs, made to service any cock my snotty young master selected?

Once Mr. Strong left me with Cameron, the boy's excitement bubbled over. He dug up a pair of my boxer shorts and had me put them on. He pulled me into his bed (the bed that used to be mine in the bedroom that used to be mine) and into an embrace. But then he pushed me away and just looked me over. He took my hand and put it on the outline of his dick in his own boxers. "Play with it, Luke. Gimme a hand job, the way a good buddy would do it at a sleepover."

I rubbed the fabric up and down along his boner and wanted to scream, I'm not your good buddy. We're not any kind of buddies. And if your father hadn't enslaved me, I would never go near your dick. But as a slaveboy I had to stay silent.

The boy reached his hand into my boxers and started rubbing my dick up and down. "We can pretend like we're just two school buddies sleeping over and horny together."

"Yes, sir," I mumbled trying to divorce my mind from my body.

"No, no, Luke. While we're playing like this you should call me Cam. Pretend we're just two buddies." I was in no mood for pretending, and no mood for being playful. But Cameron was one of my masters and I had to play along with any game he wanted.

The two of us laid side by side on the bed. My hand was down inside his boxers, stroking his cock. His hand was down inside my boxers, stroking my cock. Both of us started to work up a rhythm. Cameron's heavy breathing was giving him away. I knew he was close to shooting off. He grabbed my wrist to stop my moving hand and then I felt a little bit of wetness spew onto my hand and the inside of his boxers. He grinned and confided, "I only started to make wet stuff month before last."

After that, he lost interest in playing with my dick. He lost interest in continuing the game where we were two buddies at a sleepover. He ordered me to lick up all the spunk from my hand, then from his smooth crotch and from his stomach. I was once again treated like his slaveboy. I was pushed to the floor to sleep beside the bed. My ankle was chained to the footboard. I looked up at the boy, curled up under blankets that used to be mine. I shivered and wrapped my arms around myself.

The next morning I was dragged down to the slave bathing room and attached to the spreader bars once again so my body was spread out in an X shape. I was bleary-eyed from lack of sleep (I wasn't used to sleeping on a hard wooden floor) and confused about what would happen.

Shawn approached me with an odd-looking device. He pressed it against my flesh under my right armpit and I felt a sharp sensation, as if I had been stung by a bee. "That's your global positioning chip, boy." I froze when I heard those words. Now I really was a slave and with that tracking device it would be very difficult for me to try to run away.

When I came into the room I had noticed a fire burning inside the metal stove. I thought it was nice that they were warming up the chilly room. But then I saw Shawn fiddling with something in the flames. Cameron called out in his eagerness, "Lemme do it. I can do it."

"Maybe on the next slaveboy," Shawn said. I watched from the corner of my eye as the big slavecop pulled a brand with the letter S out of the fire. It was glowing white hot. Shawn brought the sizzling brand in my direction.

I was begging and screaming, "Please, not that… No, I'll be good… I'll be your slaveboy. I'll do whatever you want. I'll…" Before I could go further the burning hot brand was pressed against the flesh on my left buttcheek. I felt the pain running through every nerve ending in my body. I opened my mouth but it was too painful for me to even scream. Then I just broke down sobbing.

"Make the slaveboy comfortable," Shawn told his younger brother as he left the room.

Cameron touched my shriveled cock and shook his head. "Such a shame you're already circumcised, Luke. It would have been fun to cut off your foreskin."

The younger boy did his best to ease my body down. He ran cold water over my burned ass, but that only made the pain more intense. Then I was laid face down on a cot in the slave quarters, shackled to the small bed by both hands and both legs. I was left to lie there and think about everything I'd been through. I knew that short-term indentures did not get branded with hot metal. I wondered what Mr. Strong had planned for me.

The next two weeks went pretty much the same way. Sunday morning was a model for all subsequent Sundays. Mr. Strong settled back in an armchair with a cup of coffee and the Sunday paper. I was on my knees in front of his chair, leisurely licking and sucking at his thick hairy cock. He had no immediate interest in shooting his load. He merely wanted the pleasure of feeling my mouth working on his tool. My jaw was aching after hours of this. When Cameron called his father for something, the man grabbed my collar and pushed me backwards until he was ramming his cock hard into my throat. He shot off then in less than a minute, wiped his dripping cock on my hair, and walked away, leaving me on the floor.

Shawn never had time to fool around with me. When the older son used me it was always a matter of sticking his dick into me and getting it over with as fast as possible. Cameron, on the other hand, liked to play with me. Aside from his role-play game where we were two school buddies having a sleepover, he had another one where we were two boys who were dating (in some imaginary society where things like that happened between free boys).

Then about two weeks into my enslavement, Shawn prepared me and placed me into a cage. It was about the size you'd use for a large dog. To get into the cage, my body was doubled over. He tossed me into the trunk of his car and drove. This was the first time since my enslavement that I was being taken away from the house. Nobody ever tells slaveboys where they're going or what's going on. Until that night, I'd never thought about how unnerving that was for a slaveboy.

I was brought into the slave cop headquarters through the back entrance. Now that I was a slaveboy I tensed up and felt the hair on the back of my neck rising just being in this building. Still in the cage, I was carried into a room where about a dozen young slave cops were gathered, all in their tight black uniforms. An older man, who was also dressed in a black slave cop uniform and stood in front of the room, thanked Shawn for bringing along "a model for the class to use."

Shawn released me from the cage and gave me some of my old clothes to put on. I looked around suspiciously, figuring this was some kind of setup. The older instructor held an electric prod to my butt and I spasmed on the floor. Then the man lifted me by my slave collar, choking me a bit as he did so. "I know you're new to this, boy," he spit in my face. "But when you get an order you do not take a pause to think about it. You just follow that order."

"Sir, yes, sir," I snapped as I pulled on my old baggy t-shirt, then pushed down my slavejock and pulled up a pair of boxers in their place. I stumbled into a pair of my own jeans. It felt so odd. I'd just spent two weeks without having pants on. I saw that my older stepbrother had even provided socks and old sneakers for me to wear. Once I was fully dressed, I assumed slave rest position in front of the roomful of trainee slave cops.

"Thanks to Mr. Strong, we have a model we can use for our demonstration." The instructor turned to Shawn and said, "We will do our best not to damage your property. He looks like a very fine hunk of slaveflesh." Then the man turned to me and said, "You will be playing the role of a free boy who's just gotten the news that you're enslaved."

I blinked at him and just said, "Sir?"

He smacked my face and laughed, "We have to keep things simple for the slaveboy brain, don't we?" The class laughed along with him. He looked right into my eyes as he added, "Pretend you are the free boy that you were… how long ago was he a free boy?"

Shawn jumped in to say, "Two weeks, sir."

The instructor smacked his lips and said, "Mmmmmm, two weeks! You rarely see slave flesh fresher than that."

Two of the students came to the front of the room and stood beside me. One began reading articles of indenture, just as Shawn had read them to me on the day I returned home from school. When he got to the end he ordered me, "You have lost all rights as a citizen. You have lost rights to wear free boy clothing. Remove all articles of clothing, slaveboy."

I began to peel up the t-shirt, but the instructor shouted, "No! No! No! Don't you get it, you stupid slave? You're playing the part of a free boy. You are going to refuse to take off your clothes. These trainee slave cops have to learn different ways of dealing with free boys who resist indenture."

The next time I received the order to strip, I pulled away and shouted, "No way!" One trainee cop grabbed me around the middle, his arms were shoved under my underarms and my feet were lifted off the floor. The other trainee cop ripped my t-shirt and pushed down my jeans. He then toyed with my cock through my boxer shorts, while bantering with his partner. "The kid is already getting a boner. Maybe this isn't a straight boy after all? Maybe we won't need to use any force to get him to take our dicks?"

I was dressed again and the next two trainee cops took over. This time one of them bent me over and held me, while the other one paddled my butt. I cried out for mercy and was told that I had to promise to be a good slaveboy. They hurt me and I was scared of further pain, so I dutifully stripped down for them.

The instructor had a dissatisfied expression on his face. He spoke to no one in particular as he announced, "Next time we must get a boy who'll put up more of a fight."

I knew I couldn't speak out. If I had, I would have told the man that I wasn't such a 'stupid slaveboy' as to prolong a pointless punishment.

The instructor got even more frustrated when the next pair of trainees threatened me with an electric prod. I was ready to surrender to them before the prod even touched my skin. In a frustrated voice, the man then declared the lesson complete for the evening. But none of these men left the room. Now that the class was over, it was apparently time for them to party.

I knelt on the floor in just my slavejock, as one after another of my stepbrother's slavecop classmates used my mouth. Some were gentle. One just placed half his cock onto my tongue and then masturbated himself till he spewed into the back of my throat. But others were rough. One slammed all the way in and didn't pull back to let me breathe until he had shot his thick load down my throat. When a tall blond in a black uniform asked Shawn if any of them could "use the slaveboy's sweet ass"? My older stepbrother said his father insisted on being stingy with my butt. "We don't want him all stretched out when it comes to the re-sale market."

For an instant I was grateful that I wouldn't have to get buttfucked by a dozen uniformed men that night. But then Shawn's words sank in. He was talking about his father's plans to sell me. That didn't sound like a short-term indenture that was only supposed to guarantee a mortgage. That sounded like my stepfather was turning me into a permanently enslaved asset.

Shawn brought me back home and delivered me to Cameron's room. The younger boy was solicitous of me. He clearly didn't like Shawn sharing me with his slavecop classmates. In bed that night, Cameron decided to be very romantic with me. We kissed and caressed. He shot his load by laying on top of me and rubbing against my body.

***

A few weeks later, I was at the back of the house mowing the large expanse of lawn that surrounded the swimming pool. Once again, my stepfamily decided to dress me in my old white briefs that were too tight. As I moved behind the lawnmower, I felt the top of my buttcrack revealed, but when I tugged up on the fabric I felt the bottom of my cheeks exposed to the air.

Then from behind me I heard, "Lucas? Did you lose a bet or something, old buddy?" I turned and saw Peyton. He was one year behind me at school and he had never been a buddy of mine. The previous year I had been an eighth grader, at the top of the middle school hierarchy, while he was a lowly 7th grader. I'd been the captain of the wrestling and baseball teams. And I held a school record in swimming. Everyone agreed that Peyton was a good athlete, but he wasn't nearly the athlete I was.

Before I could say anything to my former schoolmate, Cameron got out of the swimming pool and approached. "Please don't disturb my slaveboy while he's working."

"Slaveboy? For real?" Peyton called out, clapping his hands together like he was celebrating. "Fuck, that's too sweet to be true."

Cameron was dressed in just a small swimsuit. Peyton was out for a run in sweatpants and a t-shirt. The two shook hands and spoke. I could only hear bits and pieces because of the noise of the lawnmower I was pushing. I heard Cameron say, "stepbrother," then later on I heard him say, "Yes, of course he does. What kind of slave owners do you think we are?" I noticed that Peyton adjusted the lump in the front of his sweatpants at that point.

Peyton called out to me and said, "I got a text from your buddies… I mean, your former buddies… from their vacation place where Nicky's folks left them alone in the house on that island. They left without you when they didn't get a reply to their messages. But by now they were worried that you never replied to any of their texts or calls."

Then the teen jock turned to Cameron and added in, "I wasn't invited along to the vacation house with them because only 8th graders went on the trip and I was a lowly 7th grasser last year."

"But you'll be in 8th next year?" Cameron said excitedly.

Peyton explained, "Since I live right down the block the guys finally decided to text me and ask me to check on Lucas." He then started chuckling. "What do you suppose I should tell them?"

"Tell them when they get back to town, they're all invited to a party right here. And tell them the host will provide a tender fresh slaveboy to take care of all their dicks." When I heard that last part, I gasped but continued mowing the lawn.

Cameron sent me upstairs to my old bedroom to look for a pair of swim trunks Peyton could wear. I purposely pulled out an old pair of speedos. They were bright yellow and had been tight on me even a year earlier. When I gave them to Peyton, he complained about how small they were. Cameron helpfully suggested that Peyton take me into the pool house so I could help him dress.

Peyton pulled me by the collar and Cameron followed us into the pool house. I had to take slave display position for Peyton to examine my body. He spent a long time just slapping and feeling my ass cheeks. Then he ordered me to undress him and to take proper care of his clothes. Since he was wearing a sweaty t-shirt and sweatpants that last instruction seemed absurd, but I folded each piece carefully. Still that wasn't good enough for Peyton, who wanted any excuse to slap me around.

Peyton stood in just his jockstrap with his hands on his hips. Cameron chuckled and said, "I just like to see my slaveboy in action." He was making an excuse for standing there and watching Peyton get undressed. But Peyton didn't mind anyway. He was the guy who always liked to walk around exposed in the locker room, showing off his impressively thick cock.

After I had pulled down Peyton's jockstrap, he kept his hands on his hips and said, "Y'know how it is, when your cock and balls are released from a tight confinement, you feel like you need to pull your sweaty balls away from your moist thighs. You can do that for me, slaveboy."

My fingers were manipulating Peyton's balls. It was hard to miss the way his thick penis was starting to stand up at an angle. I had often seen Peyton's tool on display in the locker room, but I'd never seen it erect. When it grew fully hard, I realized that his cock hadn't gained any length when it went stiff. It was a good size for sure. But I suppose guys who had admired Peyton for his size assumed that it got even bigger when Peyton boned up. That was not the case.

Peyton grinned over at Cameron and said, "You know how you said at the party, this slaveboy would…"

"Go on and use my slaveboy's mouth, Peyton. I hope you and I will be buddies when school starts up."

"You bet we will, dude," Peyton said as he shoved the full length of his boner down my throat. He grabbed my ears and was quickly pistoning in and out. It was good that I had learned a lot about taking cock down my throat because Peyton was not giving me time to get used to it. As Peyton continued face fucking me, he laughed, "But if you want me to be your lifelong blood brother, gimme a shot at this sweet slaveboy ass."

I lost the rhythm of sucking that cock as my brain reeled. Here was a guy who'd played on teams with me for the past few years. When he had started in middle school, I was nice to him and we were buddies. But within a year the two of us always seemed to be competing for the same honors, the same positions on teams – and I always won. Now that I'd been turned into a slaveboy, he was getting his revenge using my throat. But it seems he really wanted my ass. I wondered how long Peyton had been thinking about fucking my ass.

Cameron came up behind me and was rubbing his erection up and down along my buttcrack. "My dad doesn't want us to loan out his ass too much. Don't wanna bring down the re-sale value."

Peyton stopped with his cock all the way into my throat, his pubes up my nose, his balls resting on my chin. His voice grew serious when he said, "Re-sale? You're gonna sell him?"

"No… ummmm, well, we don't know if we'll sell him. But just in case we decide to, we want the maximum value."

"Damn!" Peyton exclaimed, his cock still deep in my throat but not moving. For an instant I thought Peyton was showing sympathy toward me. But then he said, "My dad promised to give me money for my own slaveboy to take away to high school with me. But that won't be till year after next. Do you think you could hold off selling him till I get the money?"

As Peyton was speaking, Cameron shoved his cock into my ass. The two teens were fucking me, one on each end. They were thrusting in together and pulling out together. Suddenly I felt Peyton's body tense up and he stopped moving. "Hello, sir. I didn't see you there. Your son was generously allowing me to use your slaveboy."

"Dad," Cameron piped up, even as his cock kept sliding in and out of my butthole. "Peyton here is a neighbor of ours and he went to school with Luke."

Even with Peyton's thick cock in my throat, I saw Mr. Strong's legs next to the teen athlete. "Nice to meet you, Peyton," the man said. "Since this lad is so recently enslaved, I should thank you for contributing to his training." I heard Peyton laugh nervously. Then Mr. Strong said, "I'll just wait over here behind you, sport. That looks so nice I'll wait my turn."

As I continued to suck Peyton's cock, I saw Mr. Strong wearing just a pair of running shorts. He was seated behind the high school boy and playing with his cock. He was looking directly at Peyton's exposed ass. I could only imagine what Peyton must have looked like from behind, his buttcheeks clenching together as he shoved forward, and those same cheeks relaxing and pulling apart when he withdrew.

"Gee, your dad is really cool," Peyton said to Cameron. As the teen jock shoved deep in my throat and began shooting his load, I swallowed as fast as I could. I wondered how Peyton would feel about this 'cool dad' if he knew that old guy was perving on his ass.

A few minutes later I was helping our teen visitor to get into the tight yellow speedos. I'd worn them when I was younger than Peyton was now. It was tough pulling them up over his bubble butt. His thick dick was sticking partway over the waistband. He tried to laugh it off, saying, "Well, I'm just among buddies here, so what does it matter? Well, buddies plus one slaveboy."

Mr. Strong had already peeled down his shorts and was stroking his cock before Peyton and Cameron left the pool house. But instead of putting his cock in my mouth, the man started quizzing me about Peyton. What was his family situation? Was his divorced father in his life at all? What kind of money did his family have? How smart was Peyton in school? And what about the boy's mother?

When he was through quizzing me, Mr. Strong grabbed my ears ready to give my face a hard, quick fuck. Even as he was ramming in and out of my throat, he grunted, "Fuck, I'd sure love to be the one who breaks in Peyton's pretty little ass. Bet his cherry ass would bring in a shitload of cash." Then he shot a thick, gooey load for me to swallow.

***

Naturally enough, my stepdad kept up our family's elite membership in the very best country club. He and his boys would dress in their most expensive clothes. And I would be on a leash tagging behind them, wearing either a slavejock or a pair of my free boy underpants.

The boys I'd grown up with were all at the club. Of course, none of them addressed me since I was now a slave. But most touched my body, rubbed my chest, patted my ass – these were guys I'd had sleepovers with and played baseball with. But they knew proper decorum meant that a slave was a slave, no exceptions. "If you don't treat every single slaveboy fully as a slaveboy, you topple the entire free enterprise system."

My former buddies in the crowd were more interested in getting to know Cameron, my recently-acquired stepbrother and master. Cameron was the one holding the leash that was attached to my collar. Carl, my best buddy from school, came up and introduced himself to Cameron, then chatted as if I wasn't even there. Then Carl reached around and squeezed my left butt cheek. With his other hand he squeezed my right nipple. "I've always wanted to do this to him, man," my former friend said to my young master.

Cameron was having the time of his life. I knelt on the ground beside Cameron's chair. I tried to be still. I wasn't permitted to move, so I couldn't react to the taunts I was hearing. I recognized some of the voices. Then I heard the voice of Coach Taylor, the athletic director from my old high school. "Hold on, everybody. I know the boy is a slaveboy and I'll treat him like a slaveboy. But, c'mon, as I understand it the kid is sacrificing himself for the sake of his family, for the sake of his mother's healthcare."

There was silence. Then some woman started clapping her hands. Everyone around that woman 'shushed' her. It just wouldn't do in proper society to show that sort of respect to a slaveboy. As the day wore on, Cameron grew bored with me. Or rather, he had already impressed all the cool older kids at the club – he had shown up for his first visit to the country club with the star middle school jock enslaved, stripped and on a leash.

Cameron led me into the locker room and handed me over to the two slaves who oversaw the space. All adult men had their own private lockers, but teens and boys used an open area with rows of lockers. I knew these two locker room slaveboys well, though I'd never asked their names. The shorter one had given me a few blow jobs when I visited the previous summer. Now they were put in charge of me. I was told that they were the senior slaves, so I had to do as they said.

The two immediately took me into the back and pushed me to my knees. I looked up at the shorter slave and said, "Hey, don't you remember me? Wasn't I always nice to you?"

He laughed and shoved his meaty cock into my mouth. I gagged just from the suddenness. He grabbed my face in his hands and snarled, "Don't play me like that, rich boy. I know they've had you sucking cocks." He held onto my ears and started ramming his meat in and out of my throat till he shot hot sticky liquid that I had to swallow.

Meanwhile the taller slave was rubbing his cock on my ass. He wasn't threatening my hole in any way. He jerked off and shot his load onto my asscheeks. The two slaves left me there as they took care of the men and boys out in the locker room. I got up and cleaned myself off as best I could.

The shorter locker slave led an older gentleman into the back where I was naked. The man looked me up and down and smirked, "By jove, it is him! It's that cute jock boy." Then this older man, along with two of his friends, took me back to a lavish and spacious enclosed private dressing area.

"Slave display position, boy." I did as the man commanded. I had seen this man at our country club for years, but had never been introduced. He and his friends walked around me and touched me everywhere. The old man actually addressed me, "Now, now, slaveboy. Your master will get the majority cut of what I paid to the locker room to rent you for a little while." I was a boy who had family roots here, who grew up wealthy, but I could now be rented by the hour. I recognized one of the men as my mother's financial adviser. He pinched my nipples and said, "These days everything is for sale – even luxury items." I was then pushed to my knees and proceeded to suck the dicks of the first two men.

The financial adviser had other plans though. He laid me on my back on a leather table. Then he shoved down his baggy trunks to reveal his fat cock fully stiff. The large hairy man climbed on top of me, his heavy body making contact with my smooth slim body. He started rubbing himself up and down against me, while kissing me wet and sloppy on the mouth. He was grunting and groaning, his hands feeling me up. When he finally came to a stop, he let out a howl and I felt his cum shooting all over my smooth torso. He got up, moved toward my mouth and commanded, "Lick this spunk off me, slaveboy."

When they were done with me and sent me on my way, the financial adviser joked with his friends, "If that stepdad does decide to sell the boy, I'll be lined up with a bid ready."

The Strongs visited the Country Club intermittently. Mr. Strong and Shawn had business to take care of during weekdays. Cameron was eager to spend all summer at the large swimming pool, but he couldn't drive so he was stuck at home. That is, until Peyton offered to take Cameron along when his mother's slave chauffeur drove him to the club. That meant that Peyton was always the first to get his hands on me – and he did enjoy handling me. On those days I was left to the devices of Cameron and Peyton. It seemed their mission was to humiliate and embarrass me.

***

On those visits to the country club, I was the properly humble slave. For Mr. Strong, punishing a slaveboy was a hobby. He was always looking for punishments that didn't leave marks. He found that belts of any width left red stripes, which "lessen the appeal of a slaveboy's buttcheeks." But a wider paddle would just leave a red area; the redness would subside in less than a day, but I'd feel the stinging another two or three days.

Then came my weekend at Mr. Wilson's house. My stepdad had promised the old man he could borrow me when his wife went away. She was gone for a long weekend, and I was delivered to the Wilson kitchen. Mr. Wilson's slaveboy Kip was in a slavejock. "Is that what you always wear to cook?" He shook his head and said, "Just when the missus is away. He enjoys seeing me like this, but not with her around." For the next few hours, Kip and I were totally domestic, taking care of all sorts of household duties, including dusting the large library and ironing the old guy's underpants.

When Mr. Wilson brought us upstairs, he handed me a pair of my own white briefs, and had another pair for Kip. Kip whispered to me, "He likes to pretend he's directing us in a sex movie. Just do as he says and he won't punish us."

Mr. Wilson really did act as a director. "In this first scene the two of you are in your underpants sitting together on this big sofa. Each of you starts playing with your own dick and looking over at the other one. Then I want Kip to say that he bets his dick is bigger than Lucas's. Lucas, you're going to ask him what he wants to bet. You'll go back and forth and then agree that the one with the smaller dick will have to give a hand job to the boy with the bigger dick. Remember, in this scene you're two straight boys. You've never touched another guy's dick before."

As we played out the scene, the old man had his hand inside his robe and was rubbing his own cock up and down, never revealing it to us. When Kip and I stood up to measure our cocks side-by-side, Mr. Wilson moaned with pleasure. It turned out my dick was a little bigger, so Kip had to give me the hand job.

Our ersatz director continued the scene. "This time you'll take the lead, Lucas. You'll coyly ask Kip if he's ever tongue kissed with a girl. You are both innocent, young boys, so neither of you has ever kissed or felt up a girl. Lucas, you're going to suggest that the two of you practice kissing with each other. Kip will be reluctant, but he will give in."

So we continued playing out the scene, still dressed in our tighty whities, French kissing and feeling each other up. That's when Mr. Wilson called us both over to him. We turned our backs to the old man and he pulled down the backs of our underpants. I felt his finger smearing something greasy into my asshole. His other hand was smearing the same into Kip's hole. Then Mr. Wilson pulled our briefs back in place and smacked our butts.

"OK, boys, time for your strip wrestling match. Whichever one of you gets the other boy's briefs completely stripped off him, gets to fuck the other one." While I stood there trying to digest what he'd just said, Kip grabbed at my legs and pulled me down to the floor. Both of our tighty whities were tangled around our legs. The neighbor slaveboy had gotten the advantage on me, but I had been captain of the school wrestling team. I managed to pin Kip and rip the briefs off his flailing legs. I had won.

We were ordered to fuck right there on the floor, as Mr. Wilson kept on masturbating himself inside his robe. This was the first time I was ever going to fuck a guy's ass – hell, the first time I would be fucking any hole. By that time I had been fucked plenty of times. But here was a firm, shaved butt ready for me to invade. I shoved my cock in all at once and Kip cried out in pain. For some reason, Kip's cry made me even hotter and I started to fuck him fast and hard. I barely kept it up for three minutes before my cream was gushing deep down into Kip's insides.

As I shot into Kip's butt, I heard Mr. Wilson call out and saw a big wet patch spread on the front of his bathrobe. His face was contorted, but then a moment later he had the sweetest smile. "Ahhhhh, you boys have earned a treat." For our treat, we had to behave like pups, jumping about on all fours as the man tossed us tasty snacks. The snacks weren't even all that good, but they were better than slave chow.

Mr. Wilson took me into his bed that night and snuggled with me. He asked me all sorts of questions about my mother. Then he asked about my stepfather and his sons. He wanted to know the details of my indenture. I told him what I could, but I was in the dark about a lot. I did express my concern for the times I had heard my stepbrothers talk about my 'resale value'. When he delved deeper about my stepfamily's explanations for enslaving me, I cautiously expressed my concern, "They said they had to do it for financial reasons, sir. But since then they keep on spending money on a lot of extravagant things." He scolded me for talking negatively about my master, but then he wrapped his warm arms around me and I slept soundly in his comfortable bed that night.

The next morning, Kip was cold and standoffish to me. I asked if he was upset that I had replaced him in his master's bed. He scowled at me and said, "You could have been gentle and nice when you fucked my ass. But you still think like a spoiled brat free boy. I remember how snotty and superior you always acted, strutting around next door while I was sweating away over here. I'm glad you were made a slaveboy. Now you know what it's like to live without all your privileges."

I graduated from Academy of St. Sebastian as Lucas DeWinter, with highest honors and the award for Athlete of the Year. I was well-liked by the faculty and admired by classmates. I knew the grounds well, having lived there for three years. But now just a few months later I returned as Slaveboy Luke, wearing only a slavejock and packed in a cage along with Cameron's other luggage.

When my cage was hoisted off the truck and dragged indoors, it was hard to get an orientation of where I was. But when the cage was opened, I eased myself out and found I was in a room in Guilded Hall, the most expensive and exclusive of all the housing on campus. Even I hadn't lived in this lavish building.

Cameron ordered me to unpack his things as he lounged on his bed, waiting for his roommate. He left the door of the room open so anyone passing in the hallway could look in and see the naked slave hurrying around, putting away shirts, pants, underwear and socks. Occasionally Cameron would have me stop in unpacking so I could get on the floor and massage his feet for all passersby to see. One boy came in to introduce himself and compliment Cam on his slaveboy's "hella beautiful butt" (his words). I heard a gasp as I turned around and the visitor in the room said, "Hot damn, is that Lucas? That boy was the star athlete of the school last year."

Cam sighed and casually said, "His slave name is Luke."

Of course I couldn't respond. I just kept my head down and put away my stepbrother's extensive wardrobe. I heard Cam recounting the whole story about how I was his new stepbrother and his father had to indenture me (though reasons why he "had to" eluded me). Cam liked to repeat that story, as if he had done something to be proud of.

"Can I feel his ass?" the visitor asked breathlessly. He would not be the last middle school student to ask that question.

I had to stop what I was doing to take slave display position and let this younger teen fondle and then smack my exposed butt cheeks. As that was going on, Cameron's roommate arrived and gave a loud greeting. "I was away all summer, but my brother told me all about this. I had to see it for myself."

When I looked up I saw that Cam's roommate was Ian, the younger brother of my best school buddy, Carl. Like any big brother and his friend, Carl and I had tormented Ian over the years. Now Ian seemed thrilled at his chance for revenge, and was especially interested in the opportunity to spank my exposed butt. I had to lay across his lap with my ass up in the air and thank the younger boy for each smack across my bottom. By the time his hand was raw, his dick was leaking in his pants. He whipped it out and shoved it into my mouth. I didn't even have to suck on it that first time, since the teenage boy immediately started shooting his load of cream down my throat.

Naturally enough, Ian and all the other boys in the dorm wanted to be friends with my obnoxious little stepbrother. Cameron was so popular because he would only let his so-called "friends" play with his slaveboy. I couldn't keep track of the number of blow jobs I gave each week. Some of them were fast, especially for younger boys who would just stick their dicks in and shoot. But some boys wanted to lean back and get their dicks serviced long and slow. Peyton, the boy who'd been my rival at school, liked to lie back nude on Cameron's bed and use my mouth for an hour at a time. I wondered if Peyton was just pretending to be unaware that Cameron was watching him and playing pocket pool?

It was obvious to me that my stepbrother Cameron was gay. He always told boys that he had to check on how his slaveboy was performing, and to make sure his father's big financial investment wasn't being compromised in any way. That was the excuse Cam used for why he had to stay and watch whenever I serviced other boys, and somehow he always got them to strip bare naked. All the senior jocks found their way to my stepbrother's room, and all of them dutifully stripped down so they could fuck my face. Didn't those macho boys care that my twerpy queer stepbrother was jerking off and looking at their bare butts in motion?

Peyton was the first of the St. Sebastian boys permitted to use my ass. He didn't mind Cam watching. In fact, he liked doing it where other boys could watch. Cameron once delivered me to the boys' locker room, where Peyton tugged down my slavejock, bent me over a bench, and rammed his long stiff cock into my ass with one thrust. He fucked me a long time, dripping sweat on my back, as the other boys lined up to use my mouth. Of course, Cam stayed watching and jerking off throughout.

Cam also let his roommate Ian fuck my ass, though the younger boy was clumsy and always shot off very fast once he was inside me. Ian's brother, Carl, who used to be my closest friend at school, came up to visit his kid brother often. (I hadn't remembered the two brothers being so close). I think he really came up just to use my ass. Sometimes he would be nasty to me, sometimes he would be tender. But he never acknowledged that we had once been buddies.

***

Then there was the time Cameron was going on a field trip and asked Coach Taylor if he could leave me in the gym while he was gone for the day. On his way out the door, my younger stepbrother told the school's athletic director, "Please use the slaveboy in any way you'd like, Coach. Treat him like he's your own. Only don't leave any marks, please."

The Coach circled me and looked me over in the oddest way. Then he put an arm around my shoulder and led me through the empty locker room to his mezzanine-level office. I had been up in his office before, but had never faced this direction, looking down with a clear view across the whole locker room.

He ordered me to take down my slavejock, saying, "You don't belong in that." Then he handed me one of the school jockstraps. It was well-worn and stained, but was tight on me, barely containing my thick dick. Then he handed me a baseball uniform, including socks and even cleats. I looked at the number and realized this had been my uniform the previous year. I dressed eagerly, catching site of myself in a mirror and admiring the way I looked like the free boy I once was.

But then the Coach pressed his body into my back. He was a big, powerful man, with broad shoulders and an impressive chest. I felt the strength of his body press into my smaller form, then I felt his hard-on grinding against my ass. He reached one hand up under the front of my baseball shirt and pinched my nipples. His tongue was licking at my neck, and he chuckled softly, "If I had done this just a few months ago, I'd not only lose my job I'd be enslaved for molesting a free boy. But you're a slaveboy now, Luke. You sure as hell look just like that free boy Lucas who used to hang out here, heheh."

With that he pushed me forward over the counter that faced the large window. I was looking down on the locker room below just as the bell rang and a gym class let out. the boys were pulling off their gym clothes as they ran in, but I didn't recognize any. I quickly figured out these were new students who had just started at St. Sebastian. Some of them were relaxed about stripping naked and heading for the showers. But many of them were shy, covering themselves with towels before they pushed down their underpants.

Coach pulled down just the back of my baseball uniform pants. Since I was only wearing a jockstrap under the uniform, my butt was fully exposed. I felt his greased-up finger plunge into me quick and hard. I gasped. Then he pulled out his finger and pressed his thick cock head against my hole. Gripping my hips firmly, he slammed his cock all the way into my ass in one smooth move.

He was ramming my bottom like a cowboy rides a bronco. Each time he shoved forward, I felt like my insides were being punched. I was fully dressed, except the back of the baseball pants were tugged down just below my buttcheeks. Coach was feeling me up through the sports uniform, and keeping up a running dialogue about the boys below. "Look at the ass on that little blond over there." (I had no idea which blond boy he was referring to.) "Look how round and smooth that butt is. I wonder if he's going to be bent over this counter in a coupla years, taking my fat cock up that sweet, tight ass."

I couldn't help but wonder if Coach had thought those same pervy thoughts about me when I had been a freshman, undressing in that same locker room. I realized my face was on the counter, almost pressed against the window. There were layers of stains on the counter, some of them old and some of them fresh. It was easy to figure out that these were cum stains left by the coach. I looked down and saw that the coach had a direct view to my former locker. I saw a dark-haired boy bend over as he pulled down his briefs, displaying his bare butt. I knew I had done the same in that exact spot. I wondered which of these cum stains happened as the coach was watching me bend over and imagining what it would be like to be inside my ass.

The boys below us were cleaned, dressed and gone, and Coach was still fucking me in the bottom. Even though he was feeling me up through these clothes, his hands were groping and jabbing into my flesh. He was still fucking me when a new group of boys came into the locker room and started undressing to change into their gym clothes. I recognized most of these boys. This was an 8th grade class, the boys taller, more filled out, fewer of them shy about stripping down. I recognized some boys I had mentored when they started out at the school.

As my mind was wandering, Coach grunted deep and slammed in harder than ever. I felt his cock pulsating in my guts, filling me up with cream.

Of course Coach couldn't hand me over to the students for them to have sex with me. Although everyone knew that boys at the school stuck their dicks into the many slaveboys on campus, it was officially against school rules. And besides, I had been loaned to the Coach so he couldn't take the risk of me getting marked up.

But at the end of the next class period, Coach stripped me to a jockstrap and sent me down to the locker room to hand out towels as boys exited the showers. The school rule was that boys had to strip totally bare, then lock up all their clothes in their lockers, and then walk naked to the showers. Boys were only given towels to cover themselves after they finished showering. I remember how daunting this seemed when I was a freshman – that period of time when I couldn't hide a boner. I know that many times I had boned up just because I was nervous knowing I was exposed.

Of course, the Coach was the one who made that rule about nudity in the locker room. Now I looked up toward the Coach's mezzanine office. I knew he must have masturbated watching the whole scene, all the naked boys surrounding me, groping me, fondling me, humiliating me. One boy reached into my worn jockstrap and grabbed my balls with one hand and my dick with his other and just tugged so hard I had to bend over. The boys behind him laughed. Then it became a challenge for boys to try to humiliate me and make me react.

This was the last period of the day, so the boys were in no hurry. I saw a blond boy I remembered from a few years earlier. When he had been a 6th grader, bigger boys picked on him. I stood up for him and promised to protect him if anybody ever teased him again. Nothing ever came of it. As far as I knew he got along fine from that point forward.

When he stood in front of me and I handed him a towel, he grinned at me with a look of recognition. Nobody was going to pick on this boy now. He had grown at least 6 inches [15 cm] taller, and had a broad chest that showed results of working out and hard sports. He grinned at me and snapped, "Turn around, slaveboy, and grab your ankles."

Of course I had to do what he said. He pushed an index finger into my mouth. I knew what was coming. His finger then went into my butthole. I had expected he would work his way into my hole, but he just rammed the full length of his finger all at once. I cried out, then caught my breath. His naked buddy behind him in line slapped his back and said, "Good going, dude."

The blond responded, "When this hunk of slaveflesh comes on the market, my dad promised me enough money to buy him. I don't care if he's not cherry. I'll use this slaveboy's holes every chance I get." Then he moved on and made way for the next naked boy in line to humiliate me.

***

Soon after that there was an evening when Cameron dressed me in my free boy boxer shorts and dropped me off at the headmaster's house. I didn't know what the arrangement was, but the older man told my young stepbrother to pick me up the following morning after breakfast. I stood at slave display position as the man felt me up and admired my exposed body. He reached down into the back of my boxers and moaned as he squeezed my hairless cheeks.

There were many rumors about the headmaster. Most of the boys believed he was a homo and that he perved on the boys at the school. There were wild stories about things he had supposedly done to young students in the past. But they all sounded pretty outlandish. And if any of them were true, they could have gotten him fired and sent to prison. But now he had me stripped to a pair of boxer shorts and I was a slaveboy, so he had the right to use me however he liked.

He was a very large man, well over 6 feet tall and rotund, actually round in the middle. He wore a brocade smoking jacket that exposed the thick thatch of black hair on his chest. His hands were instantly all over me as soon as Cameron left. And he was kissing my face, but using so much tongue it was like he was slobbering on me. He grunted, "I've always liked you so well, Lukie. One of the cutest boys we've had at St. Sebastian. And the way your narrow hips and round cheeks moved in those school trousers…" He gripped at my butt through the fabric of my boxers. "And now I get to feel them up through your free boy underpants, boy."

His idea of a hot time started with a long moist make-out session. His kisses were sloppy and open-mouthed. My face was wet from his slobber. His hands were all over me. He didn't try to remove my boxers, but he kept reaching inside them to fondle my dick, rub my balls, squeeze and massage my butt, and finger my crack. At least he wasn't brutal, he didn't need to smack me around to get his pleasure.

Suddenly he changed courses and had me do chores for him: fetch his pipe, get the matches, bring the brandy. He just sat and smiled and fiddled with his cock through the smoking jacket. "I like seeing you walk around in your own boxer shorts, Lukie. Sometimes when I was called into the dorms late in the evening, I would see you boys hanging out and walking around in just underpants. I remember how cute you looked in your little tighty whities when you first got here, sweet boy. But then in the upper grades, most of you boys switch to boxers. Oh well, the beautiful curve of your ass always looked enticing, even in boxers, Lukie." The man was showing signs of heavy drinking.

He pushed me to my knees and pushed my face into the crotch of his black satin pants. They were pulled down far enough so the man's thick fireplug cock and his heavy balls were sticking out. His junk was displayed in a thatched nest of dark hairs. Even with all my cocksucking experience, I wasn't used to one as thick as this. My jaws ached as I sucked up and down. His hand rested gently on my head.

The headmaster let out a contented sigh and said, "I suppose you heard all the rumors about nasty things I've done to boys in the school?" I paused in sucking and he lifted my head to face him. "You're a slaveboy. You have to tell me the truth."

I mumbled, "yes, sir. I'm sorry sir. I didn't repeat any of them, sir."

He chuckled and asked me to recite one for him. I flushed and said, "Well some guys were saying that… well, that you used to have a freshmen, sir… I mean, there was a freshmen boy who was on scholarship. But that part of his scholarship was…" I shook my head and said, "I'm sorry, sir. A slaveboy shouldn't talk this way about a free man."

For the first time he sounded cross with me as he said, "I order you to tell the truth. What did the boys say?"

My hand was lightly stroking his thick erection, sliding easily because I had left so much saliva on the foreskin. "Well, sir, the boys said that for the scholarship that freshmen boy had to go to your house for an hour once a week. Some guys claimed they knew that you did certain… ummmm, certain sex things with that boy… I mean, to that boy."

He chuckled softly to himself. Then said, "Tell me another one."

I'd heard so many, I tried to sort through them. "Well, the one that says there was a graduating boy caught cheating. That he'd been accepted to a prestigious military academy, which was always his dream. But if you reported that he cheated, that would break the school's honor code and he couldn't attend. He was willing to do anything if you'd keep the secret…"

I suppose I paused too long, because the headmaster said, "This sounds like a doozy. I wanna hear what I supposedly did to that senior."

I gulped. "Well, the story goes that you took him away someplace for a weekend, and that you treated him like he was a total naked slaveboy, sir." The man's fat cock was dripping now. "I heard another version that says you brought this free boy to a party with another ten… um, ten men… and they all had sex with him. And then that he went on to the military academy and is a respected high-ranking officer now." (I had caught myself before saying, "ten homos."

With that the man grabbed my ears and my face was once again impaled on his cock. This time he pushed down firmly on the back of my head, as his broad hips lifted up off the sofa and shoved even more of his cock into my throat. I felt the thick rod expand and fill my mouth fully. I felt it shoot out a load of hot cream that blasted into the back of my throat.

The big man's pendulous weight was then pressing on top of me as his whole body spasmed along with his cock. Then he started to fall asleep with me in his sweaty arms. I was forced to inhale his vile underarms. Under his breath, he muttered, "Once you go on sale, Lukie, I will put in a bid for you… then you can remain at St. Sebastian for a very long time…" He let out a soft chuckle and added, "And maybe then I would tell you which of those stories is true."

Eventually I started to get used to the large man's aroma and even the feel of his slippery sweat. Then I was able to fall asleep. But I shook myself awake when I thought, "I could do worse than being bought by the headmaster. He may be gross, but at least he is gentle with me." I sat bolt upright then as I realized that just a few months before I used to be a free boy, a respected student and athlete at this school. Now I'm a cumdump for this fat hairy man who's in charge. How far had I sunk? I now thought of myself as a slaveboy and simply hoped for a master who wouldn't be too brutal, no matter how gross and sweaty the man might be.

Then the real horror set in: I realized that the headmaster talked about my sale as if it were a done deal. Was it possible there was already a date set for an auction? I froze at the thought. That would mean for sure I was no longer a short-term slaveboy. I could be purchased and shipped anywhere in the world. I'd heard about boy brothels in Africa where they paid a lot to abuse a white American boy like me.

I hated my stepfamily with a white hot hate. But with my fear of being sold, I thought I had to do my best to convince them to keep me. That's why I became so subservient and willing on the weekends when Cameron brought me home. But it seemed pointless. Often on those weekends, Mr. Strong would have "friends" visiting. It was sometimes a single man, but more often two or even four men at a time. He would always have me report to him, find some reason to punish me, then give each of the men a chance to smack my butt, and touch my body any other way they wanted – and they always wanted to finger my asshole.

It didn't take me long to figure out these were all potential buyers. The headmaster came by and spent a long time talking with my stepdad before he fingered me and felt me up. Coach stopped in but was very apologetic, saying that he really didn't have the cash for "a piece of slaveflesh this prime," but he appreciated my stepdad letting him visit and get a feel.

That blond boy I had stuck up for when he was a freshmen, the one who'd fingered me when I was a slave in the boy's shower room – he came by with his father. You could tell the boy was overeager to have his dad buy me. And you could tell his father wasn't pleased. The man kept motioning for his son to stop looking too enthusiastic in front of a seller. Mr. Strong and the boy's father went into the next room, and I was left bent over a horse, my ass reddened from a spanking. The blond came over to me, finding an excuse to make it look like he was examining my muscles up close. He whispered to me, "I'm just putting on an act in front of people, Lucas. I've always had real strong feelings for you. If my dad buys you for me, I'll be so loving and…"

Just then the door opened and the two older men re-entered. The blond boy stood up tall. When his father asked why he'd been down next to the slaveboy like that, the boy said he was checking for shin splints. My stepdad begrudgingly offered my services to provide each of them with blowjobs. The boy was eager, but his father demurred. On their way out, the man was a little too loud in saying, "If you let the slave blow you, you have some obligation to the owner and then…"

I started hearing murmurs between Mr. Strong and his older son along the lines of, "We'll leave the auction bid open till the closing date," and, "The expense of showing him around town and around school is already paying back in the bids we're getting," finally, "this has been fun but also risky." Then I heard them talking about bids from Argentina and Kenya, but that they'd rather keep me local.

I wondered if all this was legal. Slaves get no legal representation, they don't get any advice. But I knew there were limits on short-term indentures. I didn't even know whether my stepdad had already done the paperwork to extend my time as a slave. I felt desperate. This filled my mind round the clock. Then one day I saw an opportunity to express my concerns and I took it. I was kneeling in the backyard flower garden, trimming shrubs, and I saw that our elderly neighbor, Mr. Wilson, was in his yard assessing the trees. He turned and tripped over a tree root. I instantly ran to help him.

"Sir, Mr. Wilson, please don't try to move, sir," I said. "Can I call for Kip?"

"Kip is out shopping," he rasped.

"Shall I help you to your feet, sir?"

He leaned on my shoulder the entire way through his backdoor and into his kitchen. I sat him on a chair and got some things from his bathroom to clean his face and to treat the little bruise on his forehead. I was kneeling in front of him and he smiled down at me with a look of recognition. "I remember what a fine lad you always were, Lucas."

He called me by my free boy name. I looked up at his eyes and asked, "Please, sir, permission to speak? Permission to make a request… some requests, sir?"

He nodded to me in a kindly way. I began, "Please, sir, would you inform my master that I helped you so I don't get punished for shirking my job on my master's property." He grinned indulgently as he texted my stepfather.

Then I took a deep breath and continued, "And, sir, I know this is out of line and if you wish to punish me for saying this…"

He shook his head and said, "I should stop you right there, boy. I shouldn't permit you to go any further. But, as it is, I never had a chance to say goodbye to that nice neighbor lad, Lucas, when he became enslaved." He took a long pause and then, "I give you 30 seconds to speak your mind, slaveboy."

I took another deep breath and began, "Please, sir, I once before spoke to you of my concerns that they said I was enslaved short-term for financial reasons, but then they've been spending a lot of money on all sorts of things. I haven't heard from my mother since the day I was enslaved. My stepfather had legal guardianship of me when my mother went into rehab. There was never anyone to review the indenture papers on my behalf. And now with their plans to sell me…"

He held up his hand and said, "That will do, lad. Now we shall pretend this conversation never happened."

I bowed my head to him, stepping away. I didn't know if he would report me to my masters, or if he would just ignore what I said. All I knew was that when I went back into the house that used to be my home, I felt more hopeless than ever.

Cameron was extremely bratty during this whole process. He was angry that his father was planning to sell me because he would be losing out on having his very own slaveboy, his status symbol at school. Sometimes Mr. Strong would yell at his younger son, "You could lose your own status if you're not careful, young man."

My younger stepbrother became very tender and loving toward me most of the time, but then he would lose his temper and find some excuse to beat me. His father then became even angrier that Cam was leaving red marks on my butt. "That's not how we want to display him for potential buyers."

One day when I was being prepared for a buyer, Mr. Strong saw bright red stripes across my bottom. He grabbed Cameron, pulled down the boy's pants and underpants, and started thrashing his buttcheeks with a strap, while the buyer watched and groped his own crotch. I'd never seen a free boy beaten that way. "Maybe I should sell you to this man instead?" my stepdad shouted at his younger son. The white-haired buyer was smiling as he stroked his fat boner through his slacks and ogled Cam's hairless bottom.

This happened over a weekend and I was supposed to return to school with Cameron the next day. But Cameron never came up to his bedroom that night. The following morning the house seemed quiet. No sign of Cameron. I came down to the kitchen, not sure what to do. Mr. Strong just looked at me and said, "Cameron has gone away for now." Then he ordered me to my knees to suck his cock as it stuck down one leg of his boxers.

At least that meant I wasn't going to return to the school. But I kept wondering where Cameron could have gone. It was mid-semester and he wasn't finished with classes. Was it possible Mr. Strong had really sold his younger son into slavery? Cameron wasn't legal age for full use enslavement. A chill ran up my spine. I'd had suspicions about my stepdad from the beginning. Now I wondered what the man was capable of doing.

The following weekend, Peyton stopped by the house to ask about Cameron. Mr. Strong was very friendly to the boy as he explained that Cameron had gone ahead to the lake where they would be vacationing over spring break. He assured our neighbor that he was still welcome to come along with the family for vacation. "Are you kidding, sir, first off my bitch of a mother is going away to France with her latest boyfriend. Then with all the great things you said about that lodge and the lake, I wouldn't miss it for the world." After Peyton left, my stepdad just grinned at his older son, who grinned back. I knew they were planning something. What would happen to Peyton?

Then one day I was prepared for a buyer, but when I came to the living room there was only my stepdad with Mr. Wilson. The older neighbor had a tablet with him that he held up. He looked into the tablet and asked, "Can you get a good view of the lad?"

My stepdad leaned in and asked, "You're sure this friend of yours is willing to buy the boy without touching him in the flesh?"

"He trusts me," Mr. Wilson said. "And besides when you live somewhere remote you do all such purchases online. All of the top slave dealerships offer the service."

Mr. Strong held the tablet as Mr. Wilson squeezed and checked every muscle group in my body. He smacked my ass and then had me bend over, with the tablet close up to my ass crack. I had to reach back and spread my cheeks as the older man fingered my bottom. It was odd, when I slept in his bed he had never gone this far with me. But to display me for his friend he was fingerfucking my asshole.

My stepdad helpfully stepped forward and looked into the tablet, saying, "Would you like to see how eagerly the boy can drink piss?" Without waiting for an answer, he opened his pants and pushed down his boxers so that his cock was exposed. Then he shoved it into my mouth and gave a contented murmur as he let a flood wash down my gullet.

A voice over the tablet asked, "How tight is his butthole? Cause I don't want a slave that's all stretched out like a Las Vegas brothel boy."

My stepdad insisted that, although I wasn't a virgin, the family had been stingy about sharing my ass. They didn't want me all stretched out in case of re-sale. Mr. Wilson fingered my hole again and assured the man I was "as tight as any teenage boy you could want."

There was a pause and then the disembodied voice said, "OK, Strong, what's your price?"

My stepdad tapped something into his keyboard and said, "This is the highest bid as of today. Bidding ends tomorrow at noon."

The man at the other end of the computer said, "The price I'm offering is $10,000 higher than the price you gave me. But I'll go further and say I will pay $10,000 higher than the highest bid you receive for the boy by your deadline."

Mr. Strong chuckled with nervousness. "But what if the price is…?"

"I don't care," the computer voice interrupted. "I'm a very wealthy man and I pay for what I want."

Mr. Wilson leaned in and softly said, "My friend is a man of his word. And I assure you with his business interests he can easily pay any price on the current slave market."

Meanwhile, the nameless man offered my stepdad a contract online. "Sign it now and I'll stick to my honest commitment. $10,000 above your highest bid at noon tomorrow."

I had never seen such a beatific look on my stepfather's face. He grinned from ear to ear and just fell back into a plush chair. Soon he and Shawn were preparing me for travel. I was placed in a crate, a catheter over my dick and a penis-shaped water spigot in my mouth. I was chained and could see out through the wooden slats.

In that position, I saw Peyton come to the door of the house, his backpack over his shoulder. Shawn was going to drive Peyton to this special vacation spot on a lake in Tennessee. Peyton kicked my crate and laughed, "Wish I'd gotten one last chance to stick it in this arrogant little dumb jock." Mr. Strong reminded Peyton that they needed to deliver me to my new owner without scratches or marks.

Soon the house was quiet. The slave transport people arrived and gave me a shot in my butt. I knew it was something to make me relax and sleep during the trip. Once jabbed, they put my cage into a crate. This wasn't barbaric times. The crate had temperature control. It had waste disposal and a water dispensing system. By the time I felt the crate moving, I was already getting bleary-eyed. I sucked at the water and closed my eyes. I didn't know how long the trip would take, or how far it would take me. And what would I find when I got there?

Next thing I knew the crate was moving, being unloaded somewhere. I wondered if I had fallen asleep for an hour or for 24 hours. I sensed that the crate was being moved indoors. Then there was a strong man pulling it open and revealing me. I had to shield my eyes from the light and couldn't really focus.

I heard a gruff man's voice say, "Fuck. This was a 45 minute truck ride. But they gave the boy enough sleeping meds for a cross-continental flight." I felt a strong pair of arms lift me over a hairy shoulder. I was hauled upstairs like a sack of laundry and laid face down onto a big comfortable bed. The lights were lowered and I was left that way. My mind tried to make sense of what I knew. I thought I was being sold to some man who lived in a remote location, but it sounded like I was delivered to that man just on the other side of town. My head was spinning so much, I had to stop trying to figure out what was going on and just go back to sleep.

Next thing I knew I was still laying on my tummy, naked and spread out on this very large bed, and I felt a hand moving slowly around on my butt cheeks. My face was stuffed in the pillow and I needed to wipe gunk from my eyes. When I turned, the light was behind the man's head so I couldn't get a good look at his features. But I could see he was a large man, with broad shoulders, thick biceps, and a defined set of pecs. He was only wearing boxer shorts, so my first thought was that I didn't know if he was a free man or a slave. Then I saw that he was covered in a thick coat of hair, not only on his chest and legs, but on his arms and even his shoulders. He stepped forward and I could see he had a beard.

I started to scramble to my feet, tripping as I got out of the bed. "M-m-master…? I'm so s-sorry, sir."

"Slave rest position, boy," the man said in a mellow but deep voice. Then he took one more step toward me and I gasped. There was a picture that had been in my mother's bedroom. It was her wedding day with my father, a dark-haired square-jawed man, with fierce eyes. Here were those same eyes looking down at me.

"Do you have anything to say, boy?" the man asked me, so close he was breathing into my face.

I shook my head but then stammered, "Y-yesir, yes I do, sir. I just… I want to say that I will work hard to be the very best slaveboy I could be, sir." (An old slave who'd spoken to me in a store told me that was the thing to always say in any situation.)

The man did not acknowledge that he was my father. Was I wrong? Was I deluding myself? He lounged back on the bed and kept me standing at slave rest as he asked me to tell him the story of my indenture. I started to recount about my mom's new husband. I paused and said, "Please, sir, this slaveboy isn't permitted to speak ill of any free person. If I told you my mother had a problem with…"

"Ha," the man laughed loudly. "Your mother always had a problem with alcohol and pills. I always figured she'd die way before this. That's why Wilson next door has had my contact information all these years."

"D-d-da-ad? I mean… ummm, Master… Dad… Sir, which is it?"

He didn't answer me, but he gave me a pair of my own boxer shorts to wear and put his arm around my shoulder to lead me to the kitchen. Was my father here to save me? Was I going to be freed now? He sat me at the table and gave me a bowl of soup. Well, I was sitting in a chair and eating real food with real silverware, instead of eating slave chow on the floor. That was something positive.

After my first taste of soup, I looked up and said, "Please, sir, my mother… do you know…?"

He told me that when he'd heard from Mr. Wilson, he started his own investigation. My mother had been sent to a horrible, filthy place with a quack doctor who took a small amount of money while my stepdad pocketed the rest. My real dad had already arranged to move my mother to a high-quality facility and to have the quack doctor arrested.

"But, what about that man… my stepfather…?"

He told me that government agents were looking for my stepfather. But "Mr. Strong" was a con man who'd used many identities over the years. He saw my mom as an easy mark, a woman he could fleece out of money. But when he got my mom to fall in love with him, he figured he could get his hands on her entire estate, including me.

But none of that was what got my stepdad arrested. My real dad had set up his deal with Mr. Strong, agreeing to pay $10,000 more than the final bid price. He knew that a con man couldn't resist manipulating the price. While the bid price had been $483,000 at the time of the deal, and might have been expected to rise to 800,000 or even a million at the end, the final bid turned out to be $2,990,000. Having manipulated the bids to get them that high, Mr. Strong was guilty of fraud and was on the lam from the cops. Once he was caught for that charge, there would be time for government agents to investigate the man's many other wrongdoings. My stepdad would live the rest of his life as a slave. I later heard he was shipped to Africa where a drug lord enjoyed humiliating and degrading him. Eventually he was sent to the mines.

In spite of all that my stepdad had done, it turned out that my indenture was totally legal. He did have full guardianship of me at the time, and had filed all the paperwork correctly. Due to other quirks in the law, I was now the property of Maxim DeWinter, my real dad, even though the government managed to return the $3-million dollars he had paid for me.

Eventually we learned that Shawn had brought our neighbor, Peyton, to a lovely lake in Tennessee. But Peyton didn't know anything about geography and didn't realize that when they went to the other side of the lake, they were in the Black State of Alabama. On a trip around the lake, Peyton was stricken with food poisoning. Shawn left the teen with a nice, respectable black family. Although Peyton wasn't used to dealing with black people, this family was wealthy and genteel.

But the following day when he felt better, the black family wouldn't let him leave. They told him that Shawn had messaged them and told them to keep Peyton at the house till he returned. When Peyton got suspicious of their story, they locked him in a small room without any clothes, and slipped trays of food under the door. Everyone knew that if a white boy spent more than seven days inside the Black State of Alabama, the boy was automatically indentured (and it didn't matter if the boy had been locked up and unable to leave, seven days was seven days). Shawn never returned for the younger teen. He was already heading north and counting the money he'd gotten for setting up the white boy. He would change identities many times after that and ended up jailed and indentured in South America where they can be very rough with slaveboys.

By the time the authorities found Peyton, it was too late. He had been in Alabama more than seven days and was sold to a big black industrialist who had four grown sons, all of these men well over 6 feet tall and over 300 pounds. Peyton would be kept busy servicing all the males in that family. Even though the boy had only stayed in Alabama that long through trickery and kidnapping, the law was the law. There was no freedom for the white teen jock.

It turned out that Mr. Strong didn't have any real family. He just thought it made him look more legitimate to be a widower with two sons. Shawn was another con man. Cameron was a gay boy who ran away when he found out his father was going to enslave him. Mr. Strong could have easily sold the boy right away. But he became very fond of the youth and took him in as a lover and an ersatz son. Eventually, when the man decided the boy was in the way (and also a buyer conveniently appeared), Cameron was sold. The youth ended up in a boy brothel in Las Vegas. I was told he was actually happy there, with lots of older men making him feel wanted and appreciated (even if it was only for his mouth and ass).

My former neighbor, Mr. Wilson, was widowed soon after and then became more dependent than ever on his slaveboy, Kip. Some years later when the old man died, his will gave Kip his freedom and left his fortune to the faithful slaveboy.

***

Back to that first day when I was delivered to my dad. After I finished eating, he had me stand at slave display so he could fully assess my muscles. He and I were both dressed in just our boxer shorts. As he grabbed around my body and squeezed one of my pecs, I felt his hard-on grind into my butt cheek. My whole body tensed up.

Then he leaned in and was licking at my neck, leaving a lot of saliva. I hunched my shoulder and said, "B-but, y-you're my dad… you c-can't… I mean you sh-shouldn't, sir." He smacked my butt so hard it silenced me. Then he grabbed me into his arms and carried me to his bed, tossing me down so the breath was knocked out of me. Before I could get my bearings, my father's big hairy body landed on top of mine.

His muscular arms were gripping fully around my slim form, pulling me against his broad hairy chest. I was inhaling the scent of my own father's chest and underarms, the big hairy man's sweat, and it was like I was drunk. I started licking at his warm manly flesh. Soon after, his tongue was deep in my throat. I thought I was going to choke on it the way he rammed it against my tonsils.

My father's hands were toying with my smooth upturned ass. His fingers were working around my hole, spreading me open, shoving in and out of me. Yet none of it hurt. Then he looked into my eyes, went in for another kiss, and shoved his huge cock all the way in my ass at the same time.

That was the moment when I was transformed. I felt my own dad's big fat hairy balls against my butt cheeks, I felt his pubes tickling the backs of my shaved balls. And I just started raising my hips from the bed and pushing myself onto his big dick. Each time he slammed forward, I met his thrust. I had been fucked by so many men before this. But none had made me feel the way my own dad's cock did. He grunted like a crazed walrus and I felt that missile dick slam in harder than before. I felt his hot cream filling me up and shooting so fast it was spilling out of me.

But I gripped onto my dad's hairy back. "No, no… please, sir," I grunted. "D-don't take it out. Not yet, sir."

Then I snapped out of my trance and looked into his eyes. I suddenly felt embarrassed. "I'm s-sorry, sir. I didn't mean that. I mean, I'm not gay. I've never liked taking dick up inside me…"

"Until now, son," he said as he kissed my lips tenderly. I just melted against him and our kiss once again became passionate, our tongues wrestling together. Soon dad was rolled onto his back, his arms up behind his head, relaxing and grinning up at me as I fucked myself on his thick cock. I was riding my dad's penis and howling with pleasure.

After he shot a second load up inside me, he held me and talked softly. "I'm sorry, son…"

"It's OK, dad. You had to leave and have your own life and I know mom was…"

"No, no," he corrected. "I'm sorry I wasn't there to take your cherry myself, boy. But that goes to the reason I left and moved out to the Eureka coast, son. Y'see, I've made quite a fortune in the slave trading industry. I specialize in straight teen jock boys, especially the freshly indentured."

Even with his cock still deep inside me, he pulled my face to his and kissed me hard. "I was too tempted by you, son. I didn't trust myself. You were young, but it was easy to see how cute you would be when you got a little older, what a handsome young buck you were going to be in just a few more years. And your body was already shaping up to be so hard and athletic, Lucas. If I had stayed around I knew I would have been tempted sooner rather than later.

"There are states where the age of indenture is younger, son. There are countries where a father can indenture his son, and there are no restrictions on use. I didn't have much ethics or many principles back then, Lucas. It would have been too tempting to take you away to some Pacific Island and make you my property and stick my fat cock into you back when you were just…"

I didn't touch my cock but right at that moment it started to shoot a fountain of spunk. I was impaled on my father's thick dick, my cheeks squeezing at the root of his penis. My cock kept on spraying spunk in a way I'd never seen before.

My father grinned up at me and said, "Maybe it would have been better if I had stayed, son… and did all those nasty things to you." Then we both burst out laughing.

I served out my indenture as my father's property in Eureka. During the day I worked for his slave trading company, I took online college classes in slave management, and at night I would strip down naked or to a slavejock or a pair of free boy undies, and serve as my father's sex slave. I came to worship his big hairy body, and he always knew how to make my body melt with his touches and his cock. Sometimes he'd be rough and other times he would be tender. But he knew how to make me go crazy.

Soon after I moved to his estate, my father had me breed with a cute young slavegirl. Of course I sired in the traditional way, blindfolded and tied up as my master slid my erection into the female. But later on when I saw the girl I was surprised to see that her features were so similar to mine. She gave birth to a son dad named Puppy. As the offspring of two slaves, of course Puppy was born a slave. But my father brought him into the house and looked after him from a relatively young age, treating him like a favorite pet.

When my indenture ended, nothing really changed. I continued working for my father during the day, taking online classes, and serving as his sex slave at night. Even now, after another decade has passed, I consider this powerful man to be my master. Legally, I am a free man. But I will always remain my father's property.

Just the other day I was massaging my dad's feet out by the swimming pool when Puppy jumped in the water. Dad permitted the young slaveboy into the pool, but of course the lad swam nude. As we both turned to watch the youthful slaveboy swim laps, my father asked me, "How many more years till he's legal age?"

I chuckled and said, "Oh, dad, you know I don't keep track of that sort of thing."

"Doesn't matter, since I get first crack at him."

I chuckled as I replied, "But, sir, I'm the boy's father. Shouldn't I go first?"

"Yes, but I'm the boy's grandfather twice over. That slavegirl you impregnated was also my daughter,"

I gasped and looked out at the cute boy showing his white buns as he swam up and down the length of the pool. I imagined what that lithe body would look like underneath his grandpa's big manly body, and my penis thickened.

The End